by Troy Denning
“He wouldn’t have meant it.” Han deactivated their end of the intercom and turned to Leia. “Do you get the feeling this is a setup?”
“Absolutely,” Leia said. “But I don’t understand what Gejjen expects to gain by embarrassing us.”
“There’s no logic to it that I can see,” C-3PO said. “Captain Solo can be quite embarrassing enough on his own.”
Han was too busy trying to figure Gejjen’s angle to retort. Gejjen had to know that sending them to negotiate on a celebration day would only irritate Tenel Ka and make her even more unlikely to cooperate with Corellia … and that could only mean that Gejjen did not care whether he irritated Tenel Ka.
Han began to feel worried. With the Bothans and Hutts both refusing open alliance, Corellia was growing more desperate by the day—and desperate governments took dangerous gambles. Maybe Gejjen did not care about irritating Tenel Ka because he expected to be dealing with someone else in the near future … in the very near future.
Han turned to Leia. “What if it’s not us Gejjen is setting up?”
Leia’s eyes grew narrow. “You think he’s using us to draw Tenel Ka out?”
“Or positioning us to take the blame,” Han said. “If Tenel Ka gets killed, whoever’s getting ready to take her place will want to point the finger at someone pretty kriffing quick. Otherwise, an investigation might uncover them.”
Leia thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Possible, but Tenel Ka is bound to have a first-class security team, and—as a former Jedi Knight—she’s formidable in her own right. Whoever’s behind this, they’re smart enough to realize they’ll need a professional—and a good one.”
“Sure, but I don’t see where we fit in,” Han said.
“I don’t either—yet.” Leia thought for a moment, then asked, “Why was it important for us to arrive on the day of the Queen’s Pageant?”
“Oh!” C-3PO raised his hand. “I think I know!”
Han turned to the droid. “So spit it out.”
C-3PO’s photoreceptors flickered. “Droids are unable to salivate, Captain Solo. But the palace will be filled with handsome young men today, most of them unknown to the staff. It would be the ideal time to slip an assassin onto the premises.”
“Which means security will be even tighter than normal,” Han pointed out.
“Which is why we’re important,” Leia said. “Gejjen knows Tenel Ka will find time to see us—and that will interrupt the security routine.”
“So we’re bait,” Han grumbled. “That really burns my jets.”
Han turned to the intercom and started to reach for the call button, but Leia caught his arm with the Force.
“Han, we can’t,” she said.
Han frowned in confusion. “Sure we can,” he said. “I love Corellia, but Tenel Ka is practically a daughter. If you think I’m going to let Gejjen assassinate—”
“Han, that’s not what I think,” Leia said. “But if their plan depends on a change in routine, they must have someone close to Tenel Ka to alert them to that change.”
“Right.” Han dropped his hand and tried to hide how foolish he felt for not realizing the same thing. “I knew that.”
“Of course you did.” Leia smiled and gave his arm a reassuring pat. “And you also know that their informant would just intercept your warning and let the assassins know that we’re on to them.”
“Oh, yeah,” Han said. “I knew that, too.”
Leia nodded. “I thought so.”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, obviously preparing to reach out to Tenel Ka in the Force.
It was Han’s turn to grab Leia’s arm. “Can’t do that either, sweetheart.”
Leia opened her eyes again. “We can’t?”
“What about their backup plan?” Han said. “You know they have one—and the minute their informant sees Tenel Ka acting weird, they’ll activate it.”
Leia sighed. “And we’d blow any chance Tenel Ka has of trapping them.”
“Right,” Han said.
“So what are we going to do?”
Han stepped closer and opened Leia’s robe.
Leia raised her brow. “Han, I don’t think we have time right now.”
Han gave her a roguish grin. “Don’t worry—this won’t take long.” He opened one of the pouches on her utility belt and removed an automated lock slicer. “And then we can go find Tenel Ka. That should throw a hydrospanner into their plans.”
Han went to the hand-carved double doors through which the social secretary had disappeared after dumping them in the salon, then knelt on the floor and slipped the unit’s input/output card into the crack between the doors.
C-3PO clunked over to stand behind him. “Captain Solo, may I ask what you’re doing?”
“No.”
The lock slicer emitted a short beep, announcing that it had made contact with the security system.
Before Han could activate it, Leia reached over his shoulder and covered the instrument panel. “Han, we need to be—”
“We can’t afford to wait around,” Han said. “Tenel Ka’s a good kid. She isn’t going to keep us sitting—”
“I was going to say quiet,” Leia interrupted. “There are two sentries on the other side of these doors.”
“Oh, dear,” C-3PO said. “It looks as though Captain Solo is going to embarrass us again.”
“It’s okay, Threepio.” Leia pulled Han away from the door and took the lock slicer from his hands. “In fact, we need you to return to the Falcon.”
C-3PO cocked his head. “Return to the Falcon? Whatever for?”
“Just do it, chiphead,” Han said.
An indignant harummph sounded from the droid’s vocabulator, but he turned and left through the other door, which opened into the Royal Hangar. Leia returned the slicer to her utility belt and began knocking loudly. It took several moments before an electronic buzz sounded and one of the doors opened partway.
“I’m sorry, Princess Leia,” a Hapan voice said, “but the royal guard isn’t allowed to converse with guests. If you require assistance—”
“Actually, I don’t.”
Leia used the Force to jerk the sentry through the door, at the same time sticking a leg out to catch him across the ankles. He landed at Han’s feet in a huge purple-cloaked heap reeking of musky Hapan cologne.
Han leapt onto the sentry’s back and smashed the man’s helmet into the stone floor to disorient him. The Hapan was extremely large for a human, nearly the size of a Barabel and just about as tough. Despite repeated hammering, the fellow managed to rise to his hands and knees.
Realizing he was in trouble, Han hooked his legs around the sentry’s waist and planted his feet on the man’s knees, then pushed. The fellow dropped to his belly again. Han got in a quick face-slam that actually stunned the Hapan long enough to pull off his helmet.
The sentry started to rise again, one hand reaching back to grab Han’s leg. Han delivered a powerful hammer-fist to the base of the jaw. The big Hapan went limp for a second—then his fingers dug into Han’s thigh so hard that Han had to cry out.
He struck with the hammer-fist again, and the sentry finally dropped to the floor in an unmoving heap.
By this time Leia was hauling the other guard—also unconscious—into the room. Though the fellow was just as large as the one Han had handled, his hands and feet were already bound, and Leia was using only one hand to drag him. Han would have liked to believe she was using the Force, but he knew better. After four years of Sabastyle Jedi training, she was just that strong.
“Everything okay?” Leia asked. “Do you need help?”
“I’m … fine,” Han panted. “How about a little warning next time?”
“Why?” Leia pursed her lips in mock disapproval. “You getting old or something?”
“No.” Han tore a strip off the sentry’s cloak and began to tie the man’s wrists. “Just not used to following your lead, that’s all.”
Le
ia smiled. “How can you say that, dear?” She dumped her sentry on the floor next to his, then bent down, took the man’s security card, and kissed Han’s cheek. “Breaking into Tenel Ka’s palace was your idea.”
chapter six
Located in the heart of the Senate District between the Jedi Temple and the Galactic Justice Center, Fellowship Plaza was usually abandoned after dark. But tonight, Alema was hardly alone. Jacen and Ben stood just a few meters away, talking in the shadows beside a neatly trimmed row of blartrees.
And she was not the only one eavesdropping on them. First she had spotted Lumiya, standing in a tall privacy hedge on the opposite side of the walkway, so quiet and motionless it was impossible to be certain she was still there. Then there was the dark blur that had come creeping through the fog after Ben arrived. It was about twenty meters away, crouching behind the hedge on Alema’s side of the walkway, pointing what appeared to be a small parabolic dish through the blartrees toward where Ben and Jacen stood talking. Whoever it was, the shadow had to be a Jedi—and a fairly adept one, at that. Like Lumiya and Alema herself, he—or she—had drawn in on himself until he no longer seemed to have a Force presence at all.
“… have the sparring sessions been going?” Jacen asked. “Is he still trying to make you lose your temper?”
Alema thought she saw Ben shaking his head. The two cousins were taking care to stand out of the light, and in such foggy conditions even dark-sensitive Twi’lek eyes could see little more than silhouettes.
“No,” Ben said. “I think he’s really trying to teach me something.”
“You couldn’t ask for a better instructor,” Jacen said. “But be careful. Your father is just looking for an excuse to send you back to the academy.”
Ben remained silent for a moment, then asked, “Is he going to find one?”
“That’s up to you,” Jacen replied evenly. “Do you think the techniques I’ve been teaching you are dark?”
“It depends on how I use them,” Ben replied.
“Exactly.” Jacen’s voice grew warm, and he clasped Ben’s shoulder. “But the older your father grows, the more conservative he becomes. He’s afraid he hasn’t done a good job preparing the modern generation of Jedi—that they aren’t strong enough to employ all aspects of the Force.”
“What do you think?” Ben asked.
“I think he’s done a better job than he realizes. Many Jedi Knights aren’t strong enough to use the whole Force, but some are.” Jacen laid both hands on Ben’s shoulders. “You are.”
Ben poured pride into the Force. “You’re sure?”
“What do you think?” Jacen demanded. “You’re just asking because you want me to say it again.”
“I guess so.” Ben’s tone was chagrined. “You wouldn’t be teaching me to use my emotions if you didn’t think I was strong enough.”
Alema’s heart swelled with an awe that was almost religious. Unless she misunderstood what she was hearing—and that did not seem possible—Luke Skywalker was losing his only son to the thing he feared most: the dark side. And his own nephew was going to be the instrument of that loss.
“That’s right,” Jacen said to Ben. “I’d never teach you something you’re not ready to use. Now I need you to tell Captain Shevu that I won’t be able to join him on tonight’s raids. You’ll have to handle the Jedi duties alone.”
“Can do,” Ben said. “But Captain Girdun is starting to worry about not having enough Jedi to run two teams. Maybe you should consider asking the Council for some help.”
Jacen tipped his head at a cynical angle. “And how do you think that request would be received?”
“Yeah, I know—Dad runs the Council.” Ben’s tone was more conspiratorial than apologetic. “But Captain Girdun wanted me to suggest it.”
“I see.” Jacen considered this for a moment, then said, “You’d better tell Girdun that I’m considering the idea. We don’t want our subordinates worrying about our relationship with the Jedi Council, do we?”
“Probably not,” Ben agreed. “Should we hold the interrogations for you?”
Jacen shook his head. “Girdun may have to start without me,” he said. “I’m meeting someone else, then I have some business with Admiral Niathal.”
“The GAG Star Destroyer?”
“Maybe.” Jacen pointed up the walkway toward the Galactic Justice Center. “Go on to headquarters. I’ll tell you about it at home.”
“You better.”
Ben turned and started up the walkway, passing first Lumiya’s hiding place, then Alema’s. Once he was past, Alema turned her attention to the back side of the hedge and found the eavesdropper creeping toward her, still holding the parabolic antenna in one hand.
As the shadow drew nearer, its silhouette sharpened into that of a Jedi in a standard hooded robe, then into the form of a tall woman with the pale face and heavy brow of a Chev. A couple of steps more, and Alema realized that this was not just any Jedi following Ben. It was Tresina Lobi, one of the Masters who had served on Cal Omas’s Special Council during the war with the Yuuzhan Vong.
Alema dropped her hand to her lightsaber, at the same time willing Lobi not to make the mistake of letting that parabolic antenna swing past her hiding place. At this range, the antenna was sensitive enough to pick up sounds as faint as heartbeats, and the last thing Alema wanted was to have her presence detected.
She needn’t have worried. Lobi was still two meters away when Lumiya’s sharp voice sounded from the other side of the hedge. “Jacen, I’m impressed.”
Alema risked looking away from Lobi and saw Lumiya stepping onto the foggy walkway, her long robes seeming to flow out of the hedge as though they were nothing but shadow.
“You have him very well under control.”
“It’s not a matter of control.” There was just a hint of hostility in Jacen’s voice. “Ben is my cousin. I care about him very much.”
Lumiya studied Jacen from behind her veil, then said, “Caring is fine—as long as you don’t let it stand in your way.”
“There’s a difference between letting something stand in your way and destroying it needlessly,” Jacen countered. “I’m beginning to think maybe I should send him back to his father.”
Lumiya’s voice grew as alarmed as it did disapproving. “Why would you do a foolish thing like that?”
“To complete his training,” Jacen said. “I’m having trouble finding the time to do it myself, and that leaves him vulnerable. You saw how he tried to manipulate me into feeding his ego.”
“I did, and that kind of weakness will make him a servant to his emotions,” Lumiya said. “It will also make him your servant, if you use it wisely.”
“That’s not what I want for my cousin,” Jacen said, sounding slightly disgusted.
“What you want doesn’t matter!” Lumiya retorted. “What you need does—and you need an apprentice.”
“I need an assistant,” Jacen countered. “And there are several Jedi Knights who would serve me better and require less time from me—Tahiri Veila, for example.”
“Tahiri is not a descendant of Anakin Skywalker,” Lumiya replied. “She does not have Ben’s potential, and she will not serve you as well in the long run.”
Jacen remained silent for a long time, then finally asked, “Don’t you mean serve you?”
“It’s the same thing,” Lumiya replied quickly. “We serve one cause—though I am having doubts about you, Jacen. You seem more committed to your friends and family than you do to our mission.”
“If that means protecting them from needless harm, then yes, I am,” Jacen said. “We’re supposed to be doing this for the good of the galaxy—and the galaxy includes my friends and family.”
“Of course it does, Jacen. I don’t mean to imply that it doesn’t.” Though Lumiya’s words were conciliatory, her voice remained stern and demanding. “But the galaxy is bigger than your family. You must be willing to sacrifice what you care about to a greater purpose.”
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“I’ve already proved that I’m willing to do that,” Jacen said coldly. “I’m proving it every day.”
“Indeed you are.” Lumiya’s voice softened, and she took Jacen’s elbow in her hand. “All I’m saying is that we need to keep Ben near; I don’t know how yet, but I have a sense that he will prove the key to our success.”
Jacen considered this for a moment, then let out his breath and nodded. “Okay—for now. But the minute I begin to suspect that you’re only using him to get even with Uncle Luke—”
“You won’t, because I’m not,” Lumiya said. “Everything I do, I do to bring peace and justice to the galaxy.”
Alema’s admiration for the woman was growing by the moment; Jacen Solo wasn’t easy to deceive, and she was using Jacen’s own idealism to destroy him and his family. Delightful.
Lumiya glanced up and down the walkway, no doubt reaching out in the Force to make certain no one had wandered into the area while they were talking, then asked, “Why did you want to see me here?”
“Because I didn’t have time to go to your apartment,” Jacen said.
Alema glanced back to the other side of the hedge. Lobi had dropped into a crouch and was running a feed line from the antenna to a recording rod on her belt. Now Alema began to feel less awestruck by the Balance than betrayed by it. Since her failed attack on Jacen, she had spent her time spying on him and Lumiya, and it had slowly dawned on her that just as Luke was losing Ben to what he feared most, Jacen was becoming what Leia hated most: a Sith Lord.
But if Lobi revealed that to Luke now, Jacen’s training would never be completed. Luke would hunt Lumiya down and kill her, Leia would redeem her son through her love, and the Solos would live happily ever after.
And where was the Balance in that?
Jacen recaptured Alema’s attention with an angry rebuttal to something she had missed.
“I don’t have time to be that careful tonight. Niathal is about to give me my own Star Destroyer.” His voice grew calmer, yet also more cold and demanding. “I was supposed to meet her five minutes ago, but I need you to take care of something for me. Now.”